


Just Finished a Daydream

by kansaskissedcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansaskissedcas/pseuds/kansaskissedcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt from tumblr: "Cas is homeless and trying to keep warm maybe outside of a closed shop somewhere?? And instead of giving him small change, Dean (on his way home from work, Dean smith maybe?) heads to the little café across the street and buys them both hot cups of tea and goes to sit with him and speak for a little while. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wow my first ever spn fic! be gentle with your criticisms, but be honest.

Castiel Novak hated the fact that everyone thought he needed their pity. He sat, hunched over, in front of the dark, empty store. He thinks it once might’ve been an arts-and-crafts store. He sees old couples coming there sometimes to peer, confused, through the broken glass windows, their frail hands clutching at the straps of their bags. He curls his body in front of it, tucking his blanket around his neck, and pushes his broken frames up on his nose. He didn’t want anyone’s charity. He didn’t like being homeless, of course, but he did see and hear a lot that went by him. People did talk about him like he wasn’t there, but by this point he was used to it. A couple days a week, however, he always made sure to be semi-presentable, because this positively gorgeous business man always went into the coffee shop across the street, ordered a large hot tea (tea, not coffee) and passed by Castiel on his way to work. He was tall, broad-chested, with golden blonde hair and green eyes, and just the slightest smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He was always well groomed; clean-shaven, freshly washed hair parted and combed. Castiel admired him from across the street. When Dean passed out of sight, Cas would slump back down, tugging his blanket tighter around him against the sharp, cold wind, and sigh softly. If only.  
-  
It was Tuesday, another beautiful-business-man day, and Cas fixed his glasses, running a hand through his messy, windswept hair, and he sat up straight, readying himself. He saw the god-like man take his usual path, but he stopped directly outside of the coffee shop, his hand on the door handle, and he turned slowly, making eye contact with Castiel. He gestured Cas up to him with two fingers, and Castiel glanced around uncertainly—surely he couldn’t be talking to the meek, dirty, homeless man? The man in the suit sighed with a smile—a gorgeous, dazzling smile that reached all the way up to his eyes—and turned away from the door of the coffee shop, crossing the street to where Castiel sat huddled on the ground. Castiel was terrified. He looked up into the man’s emerald eyes, trembling slightly—which is why he was so caught off guard when a hand was extended to him, that same friendly smile still crinkling the man’s eyes. “I’m Dean,” he said, and Castiel had heard him, of course, but for the blank, awe-filled stare he was giving the man—Dean, his name is Dean, Cas is going to remember that—he might as well be deaf. He tugged off his blanket, and took Dean’s hand, pulling himself up. Cas just barely remembered to shake Dean’s hand, mumbling “Castiel.,” before Dean was tugging him across the street, toward the coffee shop, tossing him a grin and a “My treat!” Cas’s heart thudded in his chest. As much as he didn’t want to accept charity, the playful smile tugging at the corners of Dean’s mouth made him rethink his priorities. Before Castiel could change his mind, the bell over the door was jingling and he was enveloped in warmth and the smell of coffee, the air practically vibrating with the buzz of hushed conversations. Dean pointed to a small table in the corner, finally releasing Cas’s hand, and he turned to the counter, speaking quietly to the barista there, who nodded and swept away to prepare whatever Dean had ordered. Cas was sitting meekly in the corner, watching, silent. Dean walked over to the table, setting his briefcase down, and Castiel noticed it had the initials “D.S.” carved into the handle. Dean smiled over at him. “So, Castiel. I’ve seen you every Tuesday for a month, always in the same place. Why?” Cas blinked over at him. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” “Why are you homeless?” Cas looked down at his hands. “My family put me out. They had a lot of money, so I didn’t have to ever work for myself. I never learned how. I didn’t have anywhere to live.” He shrugged a little. “I’m over it.”   
Dean frowned slightly. “Why did they put you out?”  
Cas murmured. “Stupid reason.” “You wanna tell me?”   
The smaller man smiled sadly up at Dean. “They didn’t like that I’m gay. Thought I’d ruin the family name.” Dean blinked, and opened his mouth to reply, but the barista had returned with two large, steaming mugs of a translucent, green-yellow liquid, which Cas assumed was tea, based upon the smell and his previous knowledge of Dean’s preferences. Dean smiled politely at the elderly woman who delivered their drinks, and she nodded at him. “Tea—chamomile, ‘cause I didn’t know what you liked and it’s my favorite,” Dean spoke quickly, almost nervously, sliding the pale blue mug to Castiel and keeping the green one for himself. Cas took a timid sip, and he burnt his mouth a little, but the tea was so good and so warm. He must’ve looked pretty amazed, because Dean looked up from where he was stirring honey into his own tea and grinned. “You like?”  
Cas nodded, slightly embarrassed, as he flushed. He set the mug down, careful not to let it clunk onto the table, and licked his lips. “I—thank you for this, really. It means a lot.” He’d hardly finished the sentence before Dean was waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t. I’m prying into your life in exchange for a cup of tea. Speaking of…you’re gay, right? Your family kicked you out for that?” Nod. “And do you keep in touch with any of them?” “No.” “Sounds like you’re better off without them.” Cas smiled sheepishly. “Am I? I mean,” he gestured to himself, his torn and dirty clothing, “am I really?”  
Dean snapped his fingers. “About that. What do you know about answering phones and telling people what they want to hear?” Cas tilted his head, taking a sip of his tea. “Um. I guess I could do that. Why?”   
Dean unlocked his briefcase, pulling out a small stack of papers. “Call-center consultant job just opened up. I could let you stay at my place until you’re on your feet, and I could help you with your resume, and I’ll get you a suit for your interview…” He trailed off, biting nervously at his bottom lip. Cas’s mouth had fallen open in awe, and before Dean could react, Cas was leaning across the table, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and hugging him, knocking over his mug in the process. They were gripping each other like that until they heard the steady dripping of spilled tea onto the wooden floors and they both pulled back, staring at the sight of spilled tea in front of them, before they simultaneously burst into laughter, ignoring the angry looks the rest of the patrons were giving them. Dean smiled fondly at Castiel, and Cas brushed a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m—you have no idea how much this means to me…thank you so much.” Dean reached a hand across the table to interlock his fingers with Cas’s. “You never have to thank me.”  
-  
END


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward about four months, and Castiel has started to feel at home living with Dean. The story continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were asking for more. Your wish is my command. This is a short chapter. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

It had been four months.  
Four months since that day in the coffee shop, and Castiel was finally settling in at Dean's apartment. He had his own bedroom, a job (not the one Dean offered him--actually, he worked at that coffee shop), and his own clothes, though he still preferred to wear Dean's.   
In those four months, Cas and Dean had become best friends. They were practically inseparable. Cas would get home from work, with a little fresh pastry from the shop, and set it on the counter after scrawling 'Dean' on it in curly letters. Then he'd go change into sweats and (most often) one of Dean's old shirts. He'd cook or order dinner, and Dean would come home soon after, smiling at the little brown bag all tied up with blue ribbon. Dean would spy whatever Cas had chosen for dinner, and he'd go change, too, finding Cas in his usual spot in Dean's room, cleaning up after Dean. They'd smile at each other, Dean would change into sweats, and then they'd eat dinner together.  
They always sat directly across from one another, and while they were eating, Cas would try to ignore the way Dean's knee knocked into his, and Dean would try to ignore the way Cas would let his eyes flutter closed when he took a bite.  
After dinner, Dean would clean the dishes, brushing off Cas's protests ("I'm the one who made it, let me clean!") and they'd settle on the couch together, under a blanket, watching television until they were so tired they were draping across each other. Dean would stumble off to his bedroom, Cas would tidy up and shuffle to his, and they'd both stay awake in their individual beds for another twenty minutes wishing they were still sharing body heat. In the morning, Cas left first, always poking his head into Dean's room to check on him (though he'd deny it if confronted) and he'd bustle out the front door. Dean'd wake up ten minutes after, getting ready himself, taking a shower and trying not to think about Cas while he was under the hot water. Then he, too, would leave.   
-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are becoming more...acquainted. Dean has morals. Cas has alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so so so sorry

It was a late Saturday night, and neither of them had work the next day--the coffee shop was closed on Sundays, and Dean had just been promoted, earning him a three-day weekend. Castiel had brought home various bottles of liquor to celebrate, and they'd downed the bottle of wine and were each now nursing their second bottles of beer. Neither were fully drunk, just heavily buzzed. Notably, Cas was more buzzed than Dean. Somehow, they ended up on the couch, sitting way too close. They both pretended not to notice the lack of space between their alcohol-warm bodies.   
Cas nudged Dean, a goofy grin splitting his face. "Hey, can I--I wanna tell you somethin'," he slurred. "'S real funny." Dean raised his brows. "Tell me." Cas giggled behind his hand, set his beer down on the table, and blinked his big blue eyes at Dean (who stomped down the warmth that spread through his heart). "I never learned how t' dance. Like, slow-dance." He snickered, poking Dean's shoulder. "Innat funny?"  
Isn't that funny.  
Dean tilted his head up to the ceiling. "I could teach ya." He murmured, not really sure if he was making a great decision here.   
Cas stifled a laugh. "O-Okay. But there's no music!"   
"Don't need music," Dean stood up, shoving the coffee table out of the way and clanking his half-empty bottle onto it. "Okay," he began, reaching his arms out for Castiel, "'m gonna be the guy, for education's sake which means you have t' be the girl." Cas opened his mouth to say something, but evidently decided against it, instead taking Dean's hands. "S-So you put your hands either on my shoulders like this," Dean demonstrated, "Or you wrap your arms around my neck. Brings ya real close." Dean tugged Cas's arms around his neck, trying to ignore how he could feel Cas's pulse quicken by the way their chests were pressed together.  
"An' I put my hands on your waist, y'know, like this..." Dean slowly let his hands drop down to Cas's narrow waist, hoping he didn't notice the way Dean let his hands drag across Cas's frame. Cas looked down at Dean's hands on his body, then back up to Dean's bottle-green eyes. "An' then what?" He licked his bottom lip, swallowing hard. Dean tracked the movement, mouth falling open silently. He felt Cas's warm body against his hands, and he sucked in a breath, because he knew there was something different here. It no longer was just friendy.   
"An'--an' then you just kinda step back an' forth. 'S supposed to be slow, and romantic."   
When Dean looked back up at Cas, he saw him frowning. "What's wrong?"   
Cas huffed. "You're so...rude."   
"What--? What d'you mean?" Dean's eyes were wide, and he realized with a start that his body was still pressed to Castiel's.   
"W-Well, you're always lookin' at me like that. An' you don't never do anything 'bout it!" Cas had a sloppy half-smile, and then he was leaning in, his eyes falling shut, and Dean was so, so tempted. He really was, but--Cas was drunk. And Dean wasn't quite as drunk, and he sure as hell would not take advantage of this. For all he knew, it was just the booze talking.   
So he did what he had to do.   
Dean shoved Castiel backwards, wincing as Cas stumbled onto the couch. Cas blinked up at Dean with wide, round, confused (gorgeous, blue, sparkly) eyes, and Dean felt guilt drip through him. "'M sorry, I just--I can't." Dean's head was swimming and he felt like he was going to vomit. He ran to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet and retching, though nothing came out.   
He spent the night on the bathroom floor.  
\--  
In the morning, Dean crawled out of the bathroom, dragging himself upwards. He started toward his bedroom, but detoured to Cas's (just to check on him and maybe fix his covers or something, 'cause that's what friends do). He pushed open the door, blinking wearily at the sight in front of him.   
Cas was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is gone, and Dean is emotionally unstable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't put your tissues away yet, folks. (another short chapter oops)

Cas was gone.  
Dean ransacked Cas's room, throwing his lamp to the floor, brushing aside his pillows, knocking all the stuff off of Cas's dresser...he didn't know what he was looking for, but he'd know when he found it.  
He heard a thump as he was throwing the covers off of Cas's bed. The duvet had knocked over a framed picture of the two of them from a party they'd thrown. In it, Cas was laughing, his arms slung around Dean's neck. Dean was smiling broadly, one arm around Cas's waist, the other flashing a thumbs-up to the camera. Dean quickly extracted the picture, folding it and shoving it into his back pocket. His panic grew as he fearfully searched the whole of the apartment (though in some small corner of his mind he knew Cas wasn't hiding under the kitchen sink, in the linen closet, or behind the refrigerator). Tacked on the front door was a note in Cas's messy (but endearing) handwriting. Dean ripped it off of the door, his eyes wide as he read the red, tear-stained note.  
"Dean-  
I can't stay here. I'm sorry. Thank you for everything you've done for me, but I have to go.  
Please don't look for me. You won't find me.  
-Cas."  
Dean realized he wasn't breathing. Did Cas...really leave? Dean collapsed to the floor, his mouth still wrapped around a silent cry. Some part of him was whispering 'why do you care if he left? you didn't love him, you wouldn't even kiss him' and Dean barely managed to make it to the bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet before he was vomiting. He retched until his throat was raw. He was dizzy as he stood to look in the mirror, his whole body trembling. His eyes were bloodshot (was it his hangover or the sudden emptiness of the apartment) as he leaned down to rinse out his mouth. He suddenly found himself walking back to Cas's room, standing in the doorway, spotting his gray sweater on the ground. He shuffled over to it, picking it up and holding it to his noise, inhaling deeply, because it still smelled like him. The whole room smelled like him. He sat on the edge of Cas's bed, shaking violently, gripping white-knuckled at the bundle of soft fabric in his hands as he paled. Cas was gone. Really gone. Dean had no idea where he'd be. Cas was smart, he wouldn't make it easy for Dean to find him. Dean shook, laying in Cas's bed, tugging the thick duvet over himself, trying not to think about Cas's scent enveloping him. When Dean ran his fingers over the dent in Cas's pillow where Cas's head had been only hours before, he finally let himself cry.


End file.
